Intricacies of Loneliness
by DarkBluexx
Summary: A simple matter of time and her skewed story book endings. Zuko/Katara. Post-series, four parts. Complete.
1. A HeartBeat Skip

**AN: **I took a short break from my OCs to write this little(ish) piece. It was very fun to write and I hope you Zutara fans out there will enjoy it. It takes place post-post series over a kind of long period of time and the titles of each part (there will be four) are taken from the Blue October song, Everlasting Friend (which I adore). This was beta-ed by the amazing Zagury (go check out her fics if you're into Harry Potter) who saved this fic from nasty missing 'y's.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Avatar.

_"A real-life script of how   
Mistakes became our medicine"   
--Everlasting Friend, Blue October_

**1. **A Heart-Beat Skip

And if tomorrow was exactly like yesterday, she could easily declare this to be her happily ever after. But tomorrow wouldn't stretch past the dawn. He liked promising her happiness and he liked to believe that this wasall they would ever need. On those nights, the restless unremitting ones, she wondered where all his certainty came from. That he could just _know _for sure that this was the perfect fate they'd been assigned.

But he always had her trust because he would always be her first. Because of what he was, the _Avatar,_ and because she was his _everything_. The loyalty just came with it. As long as the world wasn't waiting, as long as time was at their disposal, as long as there was nothing else that tied her to the earth then that endless string of moments with him would be all she ever truly desired. Oh, but she knew. She knew they weren't gods, spirits of a misty afterlife, and nothing lived up to the silly notion of 'endless.' And this temporary world away from worlds was only as long as a week, already half gone.

That boy's face simply sparkled. Every time he took her hand in his, his entire aura blazed. He thought so much of her, so much of himself. She saw it in his eyes when his sky beast, his pride and joy, broke the misty clouds and the temples, three of them as elegant as fairy tale castles, filled his desire driven gaze. When he spoke of all those noble selfless plans he had for the world… and for her, she saw it then too. She saw it even when he grew very silent and very still, close to meditation though not quite there, when she knew almost the exact words, the exact thoughts that went through his delicately certain mind. And still, she wondered where his confidence, his simple, almost archaic sureness came from. As sure as he was that the world was round was he just as sure that those moments would never end and that the round round world would always turn just the same. Unceasingly and forever. Those two words told tales of beliefs she never knew. Tales that were just tales in the end. Ones she wished she knew too but the sight wasn't hers, only his.

So the couple spent their days drifting on the beating breeze, or he did at least. She would watch him, trying to glimpse those past lives somewhere inside hazy gray hues. Avatar Yangchen towered, taller than life, over their unseasoned eyes, sitting tall and grand in one of many crumpling rooms. Her right knee was a decrepit mass of stone now, having long ago been damaged but she seemed not to notice. She looked for her inside of him but any trace of the incarnate's brand of wisdom was lost in the continuous cycle of rebirth.

And he, he was just trying to relish the gem of youthfulness. She was certain he would always be that same goofy kid but when she was near, he tried, too hard, to show how he had ripened since iceberg times. Still cute and still quirky, endearing still but with a slightly darker, more knowing edge. That was the best way she could describe him. It wasn't an insult.

At first light, they would sit for a time by the swirling chakra pools after he was finished bending the scummy pond slime, rather obsessively, out of each. Except for the last one. It was always left intact.

She asked him once, why he never gave it the same treatment. "For you," was his reply, quick like he had been hoping she would ask, "Guru Pathik helped me let go of all the things that held me back—" he smiled as he sat down next to her—"But you never held me back. I couldn't let go of you." She gazed down at the still pool of water, at how the green clumps gathered around the narrow outlet; at the water, choked and suffocated. She only nodded. The smile on her lips felt stale, detached, quite unlike his own gratified one.

The week went by slow in contrast to old times. They had moments of bliss; moments of letting the instants carry them away and others moments were spent in silent reverie as if to pay respects to the past. She thought a lot about her brother, wondering how he was doing on his own but Suki would watch over him in her stead. She was good for him. She wouldn't worry about Toph, the tenacious little warrior who didn't need concern. And then there was the Fire Lord in his crimson palace. She wondered if he was still holding up. Of everyone, his happily ever after seemed to have the most strings attached.

But Aang never let her dwell too much on them. She hoped it was just an act he put on; she hoped that he thought about their family just as much before he drifted off at night. They were all so sentimental to her and all of _this _was so sentimental to him. He never bragged, never boasted; she knew he never would, but as he took her to all the sites he had seen with the guru, showed her every waterfall, every tower of stone, every spiral set of stairs and archway carved, as if by nature's own hand, in the mountainside, every crumbling column, every cave and every peak, the vanity that radiated from him feasted upon her. He, who had to make no sacrifice, feel no humility; he, who never had to feel the guilt of violating his rules, his values; she only ever admitted her pride for him but she wondered if it would always work out so flawlessly for him in the hereafter. The world was still so messy.

He was elated, though, and maybe putting aside the messy world for a week was what he needed, what he deserved. The inner, but mostly just outer, child in him made her feel light on her feet. They say that's what love is supposed to feel like. At fourteen, she was nowhere near grown up, herself. A part of her longed for a childhood do-over too. They say experience counts for more than years. And he always understood. He was always on her side and she always knew what was right for him. But they say it's the differences that bring people together. He always listened to what he wanted to hear. She didn't know _who _to listen to all the time but always tried to hear herself.

Her heart and mind were in the midst of a visceral civil war. Her heart said there could be love where buried resentment lay. Her mind said she needed room to grow, to take in more of this scattered world. She thought the two could coexist; she was a believer that this fate was hers to choose, hers to make work.

Of the dozens and dozens of stunning sites and scenic places that made up the Eastern Air Temple, the pair always seemed to find their way back to the foamy pool beneath his favorite waterfall. It was her favorite too. Beneath its cool spray, they would bend the hours away, conducting the gushing falls, never falling out of step from one another. It was always those old familiar forms. They moved with grace and fluency as if the river itself commanded them. Perfect controlled steps and twirls, fluid streams of lucid spray twisting and splintering free of the currents, only broken with an occasional playful spar; that was what they seemed to live for. At least, for the week, they did.

It felt just right enough that she didn't toss and turn in the night and awoke with rose-colored glasses tailoring her sight just enough. There was nothing Katara wanted more than to just believe this wasn't loneliness.

**AN**: I should probably add, this is my first shot at romance, first shot at writing about canon characters and first shot at writing something that isn't a billion chapters long. Lots of firsts for me, there, so critique is always loved. The next three parts are already written and I'll post them over the next week or so (I'm lazy).


	2. Relationship

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Avatar.

**2. **Relationship

It was cold, always so cold. But then, she was never a girl who took after the sun. She was just glad to be home even if he wasn't there with her. No one could rightly say she needed a man to keep her on her feet. Water Tribe blood, they called it. There was nothing stronger.

Women of the Water Tribes, northern and southern alike, raised children without husbands, held together families and waited out the storm. They supported their man when he came home, an aged and battered hero of war or mourned when he did not, forever plagued with wounded heartstrings. But neither a blackened cloud nor a flicker in the night could hold them down for long for they had undying strength to carry on.

Her strength came from someplace deeper or someplace not quite as. While theirs was to hold on, hers was to let go. He was a good catch, the older women, those-who-knew-best, would say. She couldn't deny it but she didn't know much about fishing except that it was a big pond and she wasn't afraid of the leopard sharks.

Still, maybe just one last session of penguin sledding would have been nice, for old times' sake.

"You realize that makes you alone now, right?" Sokka asked, his arm draped over Suki's shoulder and his fingers running over a bumpy whalebone calligraphy brush. "As in _alone _alone because you're not going to get him back." He never did learn when to keep his mouth shut.

"I _know, _Sokka," she said, carving away at her own whalebone brush. How she hated the unpredictable harshness of arctic blizzards. "If I thought I was going to want him back, I wouldn't have let him go."

"So you _do _want him back?"

The knife slipped, nicking the edge of her finger and the bone brush clattered to the icy floor, chiming like glass. _I _don't_ want him back, _she wanted to scream or maybe something more dignified, _I can't let myself hold him back anymore, _or something selfish, something that tasted less like a lie, _I can't let him hold _me_ back anymore. _But she didn't have to say anything he hadn't already caught on to. They had all caught on when she came home alone.

"Well, you sure did a good job at making things awkward," he said in an undertone, "You should see the letters that kid writes to me." It wasn't long before he and Suki were enthralled with the depths of each other's eyes once more in an exchange of hushed adulations and she only continued to whittle away at dry bones of something old and expired, wishing the blizzard winds would submit to the morning.

Katara was good at doing the things others didn't have time for. Like settling minor squabbles, raising walls for new snow huts and giving people her calm assurance that they had nothing to worry about under the young Fire Lord's leadership. That seemed to be of everyone's concern as of late and the smile of certainty she gave the villagers, as if they were children who needed to know the monsters in the dark were _really _never coming back; the smile sometimes faltered and sometimes it lied. The world just wasn't one of those things that a teenager should have to carry on his shoulders. She wasn't there to see to it that things ran smoothly and that made room for doubts. Or maybe it was just him she wanted to see; the letters always seemed so synthetic and formal. She took on the habit of mirroring the style until it felt almost normal.

But it was better than the arguments. She never liked the way he left things unfinished. His father was a lost cause, she could accept that, but his sister, left rotting in a cell, her element lost and her sanity on the brink; she was his _sister. _They could never quite agree on what fate the girl deserved.

And there were other things, always something until it became nothing, only stuffy letters with proper headings and impartial closings, forced brevity that never seemed to sate her sick hunger for something, anything at all. It only fueled her belief that somewhere along the too thin, straggled lines, she had acquired a cruel knack of killing friendships.

But at the end of those same familiar lines, something new began. A long, probably hard and possibly hopeless process of realizing that she actually _doesn't _have it all figured out just yet, despite her belief that she should; and "I love you," just as three simple words are just that exactly… three simple words; and just because something looks good on paper or sounds good to the ear, that _doesn't _mean you should be the one to say it. That it's okay to understand that two people are never going to understand each other. The last part came on a fleeting thought as the words, _his _words from _his _letters that she memorized without any intention to, echoed through her head, or her heart; she got the two confused a lot these days.

So when she received cynical stares and when the villagers asked, "How can you be so sure?" her response was without hesitation and with utmost certainty. "Because I _trust _him."

She would live in the moment for now, though, with the fleeting hope of finding herself inside it. Being alone didn't have to be a terrible ordeal. And she would box up her set of newly carved whalebone brushes and send them off, anonymously, to someone who'd use them more. With all his talk of treaties, papers and obligatory letters to lords and ladies that cluttered his letters to her, she figured the Fire Lord could use some extra ones. Or maybe her intentions were slightly more selfish.

At least the storm let up. It always did in the end and oh, how it shimmered; gray teal hues encompassing the ground, riding behind the tail of a passing wind. She stood somewhere it its midst, somewhere just far enough that they wouldn't see as crystal towers broke free of their icy depths, her mark carved in the snowscape. In her drenched mitten hands was the power to manipulate, to transform. They seemed to forget that so easily. There was nothing graceful or planned about the moment.

It was inevitable, in the end that she would lose him just like the Avatar, "a good catch," lost her. Anything too far would unravel them at the seams; anything too close would only break them both. But that didn't take the edge off of her thrill when his letter came.

_Dear Katara, _it read, _Rebellions have been sprouting up all over. It's getting increasingly difficult to keep everything in check. Sending in troops to protect the citizens can only do so much and it can't change anyone's mind. I regret asking to bring you into all of this but…_

And that was all she needed to the sun would be something she could get used to.


	3. A Sudden Slip

**AN: **Sorry for the late update but happy Fourth! Here's the second to last installment. =) Thanks to my reviewers, you guys are great!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it.

**3.** A Sudden Slip

Hard labor outweighed the fruits they reaped. Courts and council meetings were all day affairs and unhappy citizens were lined up at the gilded palace door by the crack of dawn, every dawn. She got the sense that he never quite got a handle on how to deal with said crowds. Raw and almighty never stood up too well with plainly trivial. Poverty was something the lord once knew but a distant past meant little to poverty in the present. He wasonly human, after all, not a diplomatic god or merciless figurehead; both of which seemed to be common assumptions of the former prince.

He manned the front lines with admirable persistence, though, never leaving his palace where a new kind of war raged, a war he had adopted with the old one's demise. It was him against the world these days but no doubt, the power fed his hungry soul. His eyes said everything through the phony void. To the common man, there may have been ferocity in his fervid stare, or extreme desire, extreme exhaustion. But she had an unsavory gift to see straight through, beyond those amber pools. She saw doubt. She saw fear, fear of succumbing to doubt. She saw concentration, callous as stone, to let go of fear. And at last she saw, she understood where her own blind trust blossomed. It wasn't blind at all.

She was sent away frequently to aid in fending off rebellions, to heal wounded, to do the things that required skills he lacked. Because he knew that power came in gentle eyed, fiercely passionate packages. Settling matters between feuding relations became her specialty. She was good with words that carried heavy connotations of motivation and assurance that "the world is doing great!" She didn't believe in half the things she preached these days and that hurt, it stung. She came to miss the front lines of the Fire Lord's war and it wasn't long before she found herself wandering back again when the words blistered.

His regal office was empty of advisors when she made a point to go visit. He was too entranced in the desk of scrolls, the scratch of quills to pay her more than a glance and a raised finger to signal for her to wait. She spoke first, stating the obvious to be sure it got through. "I came back," she said.

He nodded. "I was informed. Thank you for your services." His quill hand paused, the ink blotting through white parchment. "If it isn't the kind of work you prefer, you aren't obliged to stay. I never expected you to."

"They don't need someone to lie to them."

"I know," he said, "But it's what they want to hear and I have to give them what they want."

Maybe he had a point. Maybe he was dead wrong. "I shouldn't keep you from your work," she said and left. Either way, there was no sense in arguing yet. She'd figure out a new way to occupy herself in his country. The capitol was a change in pace, but it could be for the better.

And with time, she learned about belonging and how she wasn't quite up to the challenge of it yet. Total dedication to one place, one cause. It meant you had to _choose. _Just one. Back when times were "simpler," she was needed by her beautiful unconventional family. She _belonged_ to them and _that _inspired her. But now… now she _couldn't_ attend wedding rehearsals and planning sessions for her brother and his fiancé and _couldn't_ say 'yes' to Aang when he built up the nerve to ask her for help in his peace spreading quest. Was that wrong? Zuko never asked her to stay. He made a point to make sure she never felt tied down to the palace and politics. And still, she felt that this was belonging. In a twisted, unjustifiable way, she belonged.

At least his ways were slightly more justifiable; someone's had to be. The Fire Lord accomplished what the Fire Lord had to accomplish, no matter the lengths he had to reach or the sacrifices he had to make. The Fire Lord did not fall short. He did not rest until the task was complete. They were all lucky he was on their side. Despite his belief he had it all under control, or maybe an aggressive desire to, the youth couldn't take on the world single handedly _every_day.

One day in particular. The usual practiced spark of sobriety and, what he liked to call, experience quivered and died in his eyes. Covered up by something darker, something like anger. And it showed. His people saw it, each one that lined up to file a complaint or inform him of the hunger and poverty that gripped their homes. His rough voice echoed through the hall and his snappy refusal sent people scrambling out the door. She caught the tiniest flicker of orange blaze from his curled fists and couldn't let it go by unmentioned.

"Zuko," she said, voice hushed, a firm cold hand clasped on his forearm, "Your uncle wants to see you privately. In your quarters." A little lie would help more than hurt.

"If he has something to say to me, tell him he can come down here and say it!" His voice boomed; a shiver spread over the crowd. She only gripped his arm harder, glared deeper, until his pulsing veins relaxed in defeat. A mutual respect still rested between them, despite everything. He wrenched his arm out of her fingers and stormed off in silence. It worked in the end. He never came back and Iroh filled the empty seat. Just for one day. His only day off.

The next day he told her she should leave, go home. But she still felt needed so she would stay. For now, at least, she would stay.

Conversations were clipped and short, always strictly business and safely distant. She could never quite pinpoint what they were afraid of but she waited, silently, patiently, for anything at all. And she climbed her way up from "motivational" speaker of doubtful Earth Kingdom cities to discussing treaties and sitting in during council meetings. She was the quickest to point out flaws in the Fire Lord's ideas and he was shortest when temper was concerned. They all wondered why he let her stay; speaking out was a crime, a punishable offence. But of course, he knew that all too well.

Yes, the true front lines were a dangerous place but the meetings ended with success. There was progress in their politics.

One of her oldest arguments with him came to a silencing close late in the year. It was a matter unspoken of since letter writing days but words no longer sufficed. It was by her own hand that Azula shrank into the other world, the void. They said it had been quick, precise… flawless. But then, no one expected any less of her. Certainly, there would be no room for failure in her final act and of course they all should have known that her fate was never in their hands at all.

She was there when the messenger came, the one with the beady eyes and detached discretion. He smirked as he read the scroll. She watched Zuko, the way his eyes didn't seem to flicker, the way the straight line of his lips did not so much as twitch. "Azula died long ago," was all he said. The way his voice did not falter or waver. It was just like that night, long ago, only this time he looked away. There was nothing left to see. And she, she only left, hoping that somewhere deep down, he still had the heart left to care. She was _family, _his _sister. _

They were not to mourn. The Fire Lord made no proclamations, he passed no laws but they were _not _to mourn. There were times when it was expected of him to be open and kind with his people. Other times, he was to have an iron fist. This time he was to be closed and cold to show his people that this was not a loss, that this was a victory, a step closer to something better. He was quite good at closed and cold, how he had changed, but she bought a bouquet of white roses all the same to keep a dream alive. He stood tall in his crimson robes, towering over a gnarled stone. She glanced at him once, for glances were all that they shared, and laid the roses before the lonely grave. Stark white against gray; he merely nodded a weak assent. The act wasn't for herself but for a little girl in hopes that she was one before she was a monster. By his eyes, the hope thrived.

And time passed, it _flew _like time was never meant to fly. Those years, back when they were the heroes, seemed a lifetime away. If she allowed herself to stop and marvel at them, she may have convinced herself it was all a dream; a nightmare, maybe. Or quite possibly, it wasn't that far off at all, maybe she just hadn't woken yet.

And he, he was changing. He never really stayed the same for too long. It was in his blood, she guessed. Always afraid of molding into a picture of his ancestors, never wanting to stray too far from home. Same story, just with new twists and an ugly sense of irony. And yet, he was never deceitful to himself. She saw it the most when he trained, which was little and sporadic these days. His private training area was so rarely used, she took the liberty of bestowing it herself.

"You aren't supposed to be here," he said, stoic. The water between her elongate arms did not falter.

"Do you plan to kick me out?" She faced him, water twisting about her wrists.

He paused, as if contemplating it but only shook his head. "No," he said and took his stance on the other side of the room. This wasn't a business affair, after all. They didn't _have _to fight like the stubborn children that still flourished within them both. It was odd for her to see him as he was, stripped of crimson robes with only baggy training wear, hair down and muting his eyes. His stubborn child glowed but its only words were in the language of licking flames on metal walls. She tore away, focusing on her own, flexible, fluid element.

"You got the letter, then?" she asked after long minutes of separate drills and forms. She glanced over her shoulder as his flames suffocated to nothing.

"What?" A single word, demand, with the hint of anger that always seemed to loom at the edge of his voice these days. She sighed.

"Aang won't be there," she said just soft enough that he would listen, "He wants you to be his best man."

"I already told him I couldn't make it. I told him I was sorry." His voice was firm, apathetic. She remembered when he used to care.

"I know," she said and shook her head slowly, "but you can't decline. You never decline when an Earth Kingdom noble invites you to lunch. Sokka's your friend, not your _political acquaintance._" She spat the last words, barely noticing the way her element glided back and forth, back and forth, waiting between her fingers.

"That's _different _and you know it!" His best argument. It was a pity. "This discussion is over." The flames burst out of coiled fists. Instantly, the swelling torrent flowed about his wrist, wrapping it in an icy glaze. The spark in his eye spoke words he'd never dare use on her but she heard it all. He probably thought she knew when to stop.

The ice crumbled, receding to the floor. "Don't do this." But she had already begun.

With a flick of her wrist, the shattered ice was liquid again, a whip slicing through air, a weapon. He blocked the blow with a quick, practiced rush of flames. No more drills and planned routines. This was almost real. Blow after blow, they sparred, each one stronger, each one a surprise. Once or twice he was able to break through her defenses, his fire dancing below her chin, tantalizing and smirking. Control. She ducked and twisted out of its grasp, sending a tide his way. Its icy fingers thrust about him, encasing his body in a crystal prison. Power. He broke through with heated breaths and stomped through the shallow pool. A flick of her fingers and the floor was ice. He stumbled and she was there, her element forming cuffs around his wrists and ankles, pinned to the metal wall. "You're rusty," she said. He snarled, a sound she hadn't heard in a long time. A good challenge was what he needed. He forgot so quickly, this was _her_ fight.

With muscles flexed and fists tight, he broke free, the ice exploding in lethal shards around them and then his arms were at his sides, his head bowed dejectedly. Unmoving. She stood before him panting, her stance rigid, her skin and hair raw with moisture. Expectant, always expectant. "This is over," he said, resolute, as he turned away. She hated that he held back. Her hand was at his arm in an instant.

"No," she said. The arguably traitorous acts and numerous accounts of misconduct she had managed to commit against the Fire Lord in the radically short amount of time meant nothing to her. She didn't believe he had it in him to break the faith. She couldn't believe in him if he did. "It's just one day. For Sokka."

His arm went limp. No attempt at struggle. His eyes looked old and tired and longing for something gone wayward. He wriggled out of her clasped fingers indifferently and his hollow footsteps echoed in the metal room, mingling with the ragged sound of her breaths.

At the door he paused, hesitating. "Thank you," he said, detached, "for the spar."

It was a step.


	4. Not Let Go

**AN: **Again, sorry for the lateness. I'm bad at this updating thing. Last part!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it.

**4. **Not Let Go

The Concord Balloon left during early morning. Deemed by one of the nation's many peace oriented organizations with their brilliant plans to redesign all the old war balloons into "peace" balloons; merely a long standing joke to everyone realistic enough to see that a new honeyed cliché name for a former method of destruction wasn't going to change anything.

Not dissimilar to her slowly failing gift in "making a difference." Her opinions in conferences and meetings didn't fly like they used to. The Fire Lord no longer argued until they reached a compromised decision. He simply said no. The consequences of a forced yes on his part; he refused to be swayed so easily again.

But at least they were _going. _Not because she wanted him to. Not even because Sokka did. An opportunity to form better relations with both the Earth Kingdom _and_ the Water Tribe; that's the way his trusty advisors saw it. At last without a half decent excuse to say no yet still she could see his deep unwillingness to say yes. Was she to be insulted? Beyond doubt, a part of her was.

A long ride of heavy silence and lofty breezes chaperoned by stunning sky-scapes for company. Indeed, it could have been worse, but it could have been better. Maybe had she not inquired on Mai's absence. How was she to know the two were no longer together? It wasn't like they talked about things of such depth anymore. The biting in his tone said she had been the one to say goodbye. He _missed _her. His eyes said it, screamed it. She could almost chronicle it. She, too, was beginning to miss a certain prince she once knew. What terrible fairy tale allusions their odd case mirrored. The reflection was always a vile thing that glared back. At least she learned not to pursue the imbecile game of small talk anymore. It felt too much like they were ignoring something not so small.

All the while she thought he was supposed to be the strong one. A peaceful Fire Lord, the turn of a new page in their world's history. The one who dared stand for a change and the "traitorous" one, said groups of his own people. The world was his cause and his nation, his pride. It was everything he ever wanted and so much more than he ever bargained for. She would never forget his words from that day, the day he had inherited a battered war torn old toy, discarded and fought over by most. The way he _glowed. _Some of the luster had faded since then but it wasn't all lost. He was not lost.

But he didn't _look _like the strong one. Not since they left. He looked like the beaten one, doing something he was severely against doing. She tried understanding but it only turned to disgust. Sokka, who had always been accepting of him, Sokka, who was always forgiving, sometimes more so than he deserved. Sokka. His friend. It was just one day, one wedding, not a sacrifice at all. And Zuko, the stable Fire Lord capable of carrying the whole world on his bare shoulders couldn't even _pretend_ that he cared. It took everything she had to pretend she wasn't angry.

So the long trip of strangling silence and whipping winds carried on until the Island of Kyoshi appeared at last like a life raft on the horizon. It was just like she remembered; subtle traces of snow and slush mingled with dirt and grass, short rows of wooden cottages and all.

He was just like she remembered too. His head held a little higher, maybe and his mouth curved up a little more when he smiled, which was all the time. Over protective as ever and always the first to crack a joke. "Sokka." The older sibling wrapped her up in a tight hug.

"I thought you'd never make it," he said with a grin, "Still not sure what you see in those _Fire Nation _people." He looked past her at the Fire Lord clad in crimson robes that dragged in the slush. The exchange was brief. His withdrawn glance and unsure smile, Sokka's wide grin as he slapped him on the back saying, "Good to see you again, buddy." Zuko muttered a response, returning the gesture stiffly. She watched him as Sokka apologized and left to deal with other matters. She watched him as he made an obvious effort to avert her gaze and leave the scene without a word.

But what Sokka didn't know couldn't bring him down so she wouldn't let it cripple her. Besides, planning in the tiny island was an entire town affair. The place was near bursting with excitement to marry off their warrior leader to the Southern Water Tribe hero. It was a break for her, a time to relax and let the town go through the tedious motions of planning without her watchful eye. She spent long hours with her brother's bride and family and friends from home, all there to support the boy, now man, who was like a son to them all. They saw a change in her, a change that her deep blues were blind to. No longer was there a fiery determination to protect and assure that things would never fall into the broad category of "not okay" again. A trait shared with her former love. A good trait, perhaps, one that he still possessed and probably always would. And no longer was there regret and uncertainty as there had been once. As faint as it was then, it was all but gone now. All that remained was a calm kind of acceptance, as if the world no longer had any tricks up its sleeves. But she hadn't seen it all yet. Where there was smooth ageless skin, it seemed that there should have been the faintest trace of lines.

The big day came and went. A blur of white lilies, long gowns and elegant robes of artistry and refinement rare to her humbled eye. The ceremony, the vows, the wafting scent of sprouting fields carried lightly on a passing breeze, the slight chill easily warmed by the bride and groom's radiance. Tears of pure bliss and not a bleak face in the crowd. Everything a wedding is supposed to be.

He stood towards the front of the procession as the ceremony unfolded, garbed in his dressiest Fire Lord attire. An expression of carefully measured indifference, looking just formal enough that the procession could mistaken it as caring. His gaze wandered and she caught it, paying him a subtle glare. He matched it, stubborn. She returned a fiercer version. He stared off to the side, obviously annoyed and smiled a forced half-hearted smile as if to say, "There. Happy now?" She wasn't but it would do.

The celebration carried on late into the night. Her brother was always the loudest and his bride tried the hardest not to laugh. They were happy, but she already knew that. There was someone who wasn't there, having been among the first to leave and the strangest notion dawned on her that wherever he had disappeared to, he wasn't sharing in the bliss. He gave off that vibe a lot lately. She sighed, unsure of which would be more appropriate, pity of anger.

She didn't see him the next day. She didn't go looking for him, only knocked on his door late that evening with the meal he'd skipped. No reply. When she pushed it open, just an inch, he wasn't there. Probably not hungry, she realized, he didn't need someone to look after him just like she didn't needto look after someone. But it was so easy to imagine him alone somewhere, acting like the world didn't, _couldn't_, care. Believing that he was alone and that this burden was reserved to carry on his lone back. Probably. No, he didn't needanyone. Neither did she. And yet…

She found him just outside the freshly sowed fields. The dull crashing of waves echoed off the trees, the vast sea just close enough that she could hear it though the blue strip didn't reach her sight. A small campfire glinted in the valley. He sat a few yards away just outside the sanguine circle, facing the even crashes. He didn't startle at the rustle of grass from even footfalls. She sat near the flames, taking in the dark woods. There wasn't much to see. His solid gaze seemed to watch something else.

"I have every right to be angry with you." The words were muttered under her breath, no need for 'hello's and 'beautiful night, isn't it?'s. They had left those behind long ago. His unfocused eyes quivered to her for a flash. They may have showed everything else but surprise.

"I know." Disconnected, he was never really all there these days. "Give Sokka my apologies."

"Is that all?" she asked, her voice still quietly firm, scolding, "No explanation? No excuse? Just an apology that means absolutely _nothing?_" The mask in her voice just barely held up, the best she could do. It had become more than just the wedding, more than just her brother. It was him. It was the way his strength thrived, like a mannequin built to model the desires of his people and just that to those who had once meant so much to him, a stuffed doll.

He half shrugged, half nodded, maybe shook his head and said nothing. She could only look away, building up a new mask. She remembered when it was just the simple things that mattered. The waves drummed, in tune with the silence and crackling flames.

"You should stay here when I leave," he said after a long moment, "or go home." It wasn't the first time he had voiced the desire. "Things aren't like they were back then and you—" he paused, the scratchiness of his voice growing coarse—"We all just have to move on."

"Moving on is what we're _all _doing, Zuko." Moving on showed her how belonging was never what she needed. It showed her a need to choose for herself. It was her choice now, always her choice. Her voice blazed like his fire. "What _you're _doing is hiding behind excuses and pretending that's all you ever needed."

Silence. Only this time, longer. Of all the words they hadn't said over all those quiet moments spared, it was those ones that they had chosen now. Those words that said so much about each of their swollen little egos. It would go on like this forever. But Katara broke the stillness before then to leave, to go back to town where it was so much easier to feign oblivion.

"I'm sorry," she said, her turn to be disconnected and vague. "We can pretend this trip never happened when we get back." Because she _would_ be back. Her steps were careful in the dark. He shifted in the crisp grass, a hesitant rustling of cloth.

"Whalebone?" She halted, twisting her neck to watch him, inquiring. He didn't look up, only held his arm out, a calligraphy brush in the tight grasp. "And hand carved. That isn't something you come by often."

"No," she said carefully, "It isn't."

"You were never one for politics," he said, his voice still dull and gracefully neutral, "Not before you came." It wasn't a question. He knew. And for the first time, so did she.

"I liked getting letters," she said. Her eyes fixed on the orange glow, she managed to avert his gaze. She was barely aware of her own words. "Aang didn't want to talk to me… his letters are still short, hopeful, but always short. Sokka thought I had made a mistake. So did everyone, I guess. I liked that we never talked about things like that."

He only nodded, turning away as he laid the brush on the ground. Figures he'd see through her so easily when she least wanted him to. She sighed. Maybe it was time to give in. Just this once.

"I can't believe you kept that," she said, picking up the brush as she took its place next to him. He only shrugged. She caught a glimpse of the moon, escalating above the trees and pouring down stars like rain. She turned to him, his eyes, like portals straight to the deepest core of his deepest being; the way they could still hold secrets impossible to decipher. She determined that she was more than content with not knowing what wasn't for her to know. But half of it she could guess.

"You can't fix the world, Zuko." A simple fact he undoubtedly knew but too often chose not to lament. "None of us can. Not if it doesn't want to be fixed." She watched the way his features did not change, did not falter and glanced ahead at the dim wooded place. "But you're good at what you do. Maybe the best. Keep setting too high of goals… just don't think of it as failing when you can't reach them." He glanced down at the ground, his features shrouded in the night. She watched the fire dance.

"I just thought someone needed to tell you that," she said. Tomorrow they would be home again but for now, she didn't feel like moving. It seemed like a good place to leave behind her skewed happily-ever-after fantasies; a good place to let them mingle with the ashes of his sputtering fire and be carried off on a breeze. She was glad this was almost over, almost as glad as he was.

"I guess we all end up alone once it's all done and gone," he said mildly, not in grief.

"I guess," she agreed, not having to ask what he meant. She was already fairly sure she knew. Belonging. The word came to her on a fleeting thought. It wasn't where people wanted her to be, nor was it a place that she was supposed to "love." It came from herself, it came from desire and her selfish little ego. It was exactly what she wanted it to be. And nothing more.

He stretched his arms behind him and leaned back, gazing up at the stars as if they were old friends he hadn't seen in a good long time. She hugged her knees, and let her chin sink. She closed her eyes, listening to the push and pull of the sea as the moon practiced its skill.

Alone, maybe. But not lonely. Never truly lonely. This wasn't a war about winning. It was a simple matter of who gained the most from their loss.

It was no more than a hollow shame that their yesterday would be branded with a bona fide ascent of sun and passing of stars.

--

**AN: **Well, there you have it. The end. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. So again, thank you to Zagury and all my amazing reviewers. I got some really great feedback on this and you don't know how much I loved to see reviews waiting for me in my inbox. So keep it up! I really want to know what you think of the final part. I don't see me writing anymore Zutara for a long time (you may have noticed how fail the romance aspect was) but I'm going to take a moment to shamelessly plug my main fic here, Split But Whole. It's an OC story (I'm an OC writer at heart) but hey, you might like it. Recently revised as well.

So that's all! Bye.

--DarkBlue


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